


A Soft Place to Land

by MeetTheRoyalMess



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Gen, Hospitals, POV Gon Freecs, Recovery, episode 145 insert, gon-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeetTheRoyalMess/pseuds/MeetTheRoyalMess
Summary: To Gon, life is made of verdant greens streaked with platinum whites. The shades shift and flash in endless enthusiasm. Life means adventure, strength, turmoil, and love. Life means everything when there’s a smiling face in front of him or a comforting warmth at his side. It is everything. Life means nothing when the most important of people aren’t in it anymore. It is empty.~What happened when Gon woke up (and a little bit before then)?
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs & Nanika
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	A Soft Place to Land

Gon has traveled to the border between life and death before, but he has never stood with a foot planted on each side until this moment. He doesn’t react to this new fact. His mind and body are blank voids barely managing to hold a singular form as he drifts from side to side. He’s alive, but he’s dying. Thus, he’s stuck here in this strange place of watercolors representing his two final options.

To Gon, life is made of verdant greens streaked with platinum whites. The shades shift and flash in endless enthusiasm. Life means adventure, strength, turmoil, and love. Life means everything when there’s a smiling face in front of him or a comforting warmth at his side. It is everything. Life means nothing when the most important of people aren’t in it anymore. It is empty.

Though he would still choose to live if the choice was his.

But it isn’t.

So he tells himself.

So he _lies._

But just as he becomes convinced that he would tip over into the morphing and unending abyss, the ground begins to shake. The lush carpet of grass pinches underneath his feet and pulls it skyward. Gon stumbles, struggling to find purchase against the slope as it gets steeper and steeper. The prospect of slipping into death becomes an impossibility with the wall blocking his way.

His legs give in and he crumples to the ground. He rolls completely at the mercy of the growing wall before him. Any strength he had slips through his fingers and acceptance clogs his throat.

The land raises until its vertical, Gon now suspended in total freefall, wind whipping past his ears. The sky is bright and speckled.

 _Beautiful,_ Gon thinks suddenly. It’s the first solid thought he feels he’s had in centuries. (How long has he been here? How long has he been adrift? Hours? Weeks? Does it even matter now?)

Lightning crackles through the atmosphere. He’s powerless and limp to fight against it as it zips right for him. He holds out a hand and slams his eyes closed, instinct in the face of something so unformidable. To his surprise, iciness captures his wrist. When he opens his eyes once more, a small porcelain hand that has a firm hold on him.

The person—or perhaps spirit? Being? —gazes at him intently with eyes of ebony. Their inky black hair covers his view of the endless blues and greens surrounding them. They open their smiling mouth, and along with their words the entire world suspends in a single moment, the air stilling.

_“Gon?”_

Their voice is eerie and almost hollow. Yet, it is brimming with power and emotion that Gon has never truly experienced in another person before. “Yes,” is the only reply he can muster.

 _“You…important,”_ they murmur. _“Very important to Killua. He is important to me.”_

Gon’s face scrunches, the phrase is both familiar and foreign to him. He tries to say something else, but they continue to speak.

_“I will bring you back, but…can I ask you something?”_

Gon nods, confused but intrigued by the young earnestness on this person’s mask-like face.

_“Will you take care of him? Please?”_

Large empty eyes begin to swell as their mouth wobbles. Gon’s heart stops, unmoving and useless in his chest. He grasps the mysterious being’s wrist back and smiles. “Of course I will.”

He doesn’t know exactly what he has committed himself to, but he would make sure to keep it so long as it kept them from breaking down. Much to his delight, their face brightens immediately.

_“Forever?”_

Gon stretches out his pinky. He’s so terribly endeared by the way their head tilts at the motion. Slowly, they stretch out their other hand and Gon links their pinkies together, going through the practiced tradition of the pinky promise. Finally, he presses his lips to his thumb and nudges for the other to do the same. They put their white thumb up to their etched-in-smile. Gon grins. “It’s a pinky promise. I promise I’ll take care of him. Forever.”

A giggle echoes from them and their eyes well up happily. _“Thank you, Gon.”_

“Oh!” Gon would slap his forehead if either of his hands were free. “I never asked you your name! I’m sorry.”

_“My name…Nanika.”_

Gon grins. “Will you take me home, Nanika?”

There is a gentle squeeze from their cold fingers. _“Aye.”_

Light emits from where their skin meets and in a bright flash, Gon’s request is granted. 

The conscious world returns to him in small shards of mosaic. The pieces reflect and blind him in varying shapes and colors, but they are only slivers caught through the gaps in his bandages. Sounds fade in and out; an incessant beeping screaming directly into his eardrums contrasting greatly with the familiar whispers his sensitive ears try to latch onto.

Gon tries to move. His fingers merely twitch. With that subtle movement, the whole world appears in a burst of hyperrealism.

Every sense is overwhelmed with the life flowing back into his body. The wrappings are too tight against his itching skin. The smell of disinfectant clogs his nose and forces small coughs from his lungs.

There’s scuffling surrounding him and the cool pressure he hadn’t had the chance to process left his hand. Panic surges through his veins, grips his heart like a vice. He grapples with his limited movement, trying to reach for whoever was touching him with trembling fingertips. There is only empty air.

An unbidden whimper tears from his throat before he can consider holding it back. Tears form in the corners of his eyes and he feels so _helpless_ against his surroundings.

It hits him then that he is alone. No one is there and he is all by himself once again, only this time it is without the excuse of his unconsciousness.

He’s alive but everyone is gone.

His friends.

His father.

Aunt Mito.

Killua.

_Kite._

No one is there.

_Kite couldn’t be here because he’s dead._

A sob reverberates through his bones, gets trapped behind his bandages.

The needles in his arms pull uncomfortably as he thrashes in desperation. Gon needs to escape. He needs to get out of there— _anything_ except stay where he is.

But then there’s something, a light weight on his forehead and it stills him, even for just a moment. Though he knows it’s impossible with his limited peripheral, he tries to see what it is, or who it is. Because the touch is so gentle and calming and _tender_ in a way, he hasn’t experienced in god knows how long. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye. He pushes into the touch—a hand, he assumes—and forces his shaking breaths to slow.

A finger strokes across his brow. A knot in Gon’s chest loosens. 

It’s a beautifully fragile moment, held in the millimeter separating Gon and this person placating his hostile mind.

Then, footsteps echo quietly throughout the room. They are far away, only noticeable to him because of his keen hearing, but soon enough, the person next to him shifts towards the sound too. The touch also starts to slip away.

Gon tries to voice his impending distress, to plead with the person to _please stay, oh god don’t leave._ The other must have sensed this because they immediately returned, though briefly, to give one last touch to his cheek.

It disappears in a breath and within a few dizzying seconds, there are more noises approaching as the person silently vanishes.

There are many cries of his name in the minutes that follow. People surround his bed—some he’s met before, some he hasn’t—as they unravel him from his linen prison. He’s relieved to see his friends alive and well but he can’t help but wonder if his closest friend is somewhere amidst the crowd.

When his head is finally completely out of its bandages, everyone exclaims and cheers, throwing in some inquiries about his health but Gon can’t process any of it. Everything is happening so quickly and there’s so many people bustling about; he’s flitting through a vast arrangement of emotions in between seconds.

Everyone was here...for him?

He’s reeling in the love they undeservedly give him. He wants to smile, reassure them that he isn’t in any pain and, yes, he could walk. But there in his hospital bed, looking like a half-done mummy, he locks eyes with the nearest person—Knuckle, he recognizes—and asks the one question that hasn’t left his mind since their arrival.

_“Where’s Killua?”_


End file.
